


faciens fluctus

by plingo_kat



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: Daud/Corvo is the endgame here, Gen, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Daud, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:54:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plingo_kat/pseuds/plingo_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the second week of their sea voyage to Serkonos, the ship is attacked by pirates. Daud's retirement is going <em>swimmingly</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Almost entirely the fault of triska and a post about Daud growing up on a pirate ship. Retirement!Daud is my ultimate weakness.

**o.**

On the second week of their sea voyage to Serkonos, the ship is attacked by pirates.

“What in the void bedamned--” Daud falls out of his hammock with a thump as somebody pounds to the door to the guest quarters, hand reaching for a sword he doesn’t have strapped to his hip. He snatches it up from where it’s tied next to his berth instead and clambers to his feet. All around him Whalers are doing the same, cursing and complaining.

“Sir?” Thomas appears next to him.

“What’s going on?” Daud says. He tucks his pistol into his belt and shoves feet into boots. “Tell me we haven’t found a whale pod.”

A _boom_ and _crack_ split the air, only faintly muffled by the ship’s hull.

“We’re being attacked,” Thomas says. “Pirates.”

Daud doesn’t bother to reply. “Gear up!” he shouts and heads for the door. “No powers where anybody can see you, but make sure not to die. The priority are the sailors, understand?”

Privately he thinks it might be easier if the crew of the _Huntress_ was killed; the Whalers have enough seamen among them to make it safely to Serkonos, and they wouldn’t have to put up with pretending to be powerless. It would be suspicious though, so he orders his men to protect the whaling ship’s population and head up on deck himself.

He ought to remember that nothing he does is private, really. Not ever since he gained the Outsider’s mark.

The upper decks are chaos; the pirates have already boarded, swinging over on lines from the masts of their ship. It and the _Huntress_ are locked together with various anchoring chains and hooks -- a temporary measure, but enough to allow the raiders to board. The knocking which woke him must have been by a panicked _Huntress_ crewman fleeing from the carnage.

More than half the _Huntress_ ’ crew is dead already, actual whalers being no match for what seem to be fairly competent pirates. Daud’s men are already wading into the fray, although things are complicated by the dark and a lack of uniforms; while Daud knows most of the crew by sight, he isn’t familiar enough with them to be sure with a split-second glance of a bloodied, screaming face that he isn’t shooting the wrong man.

A rough half-hour later Daud and the Whalers are accepting twenty men’s surrender: all that is left of the pirate crew.

“I’m going to give you a choice,” Daud says to them. “Work for me, or be thrown in the brig. Either way you’ll be free to leave once we reach Serkonos. You have five minutes to decide.”

He motions Thomas over and lowers his voice.

“Are we secure?”

“Yes, sir.” Thomas says. “Rulfio took a squad to make sure there’s no surprises on the other ship, but both of them are ours.”

“How many of the _Huntress_ ’ crew are left?”

Thomas winces. “Only four, and one of them wounded. Hobson is working on him.”

“Will they be trouble?”

“No. They saw us fight, and two of them are close to some of the Novices. If the other two start getting up to mischief, I think they’d stop them.”

“Good, good.” Daud nods. That makes things less complicated. “That only leaves the pirates. What’s their ship called?”

At Thomas’ shrug, he relays the question to a pirate crewman.

 _”The Leviathan,_ sir,” the crewman says, touching a head to his forehead.

Daud barks a laugh -- that black-eyed bastard is probably gloating in the void. The name is too perfect, too ironic; it decides him.

“Thomas,” he says. “I’m naming you captain of _The Leviathan_.” He ignores his second’s double-take and sputtering protests. “I am now captain of the _Huntress_. You all,” he sweeps a glare over the kneeling pirates, “have had long enough to decide. Tell me -- work, or the brig?”

He takes answers from left to right out of the mouths of each prisoner. Most choose to work, including the pale man who told Daud _The Leviathan_ ’s name and a dark-skinned boy with a tattoo that winds its way across his chest and up his neck onto his cheek. One man spits at Daud’s feet -- he goes to the brig.

The sky has lightened to a pale grey by the time everything has been sorted out: Rulfio reports that _The Leviathan_ is clean, Daud splits the new sailing volunteers and his Whalers into two mixed crews, Thomas protests his appointment until Daud growls that he’s the only one Daud trusts enough who has enough experience both leading the Whalers and sailing to do the job.

“They -- although it’s ‘we’ now, I suppose,” Rulfio says, “have loot in the hold. Plenty of provisions, too.” 

Daud thinks of what Gristol calls food.

“Split it between us,” he orders. “It’s only another ten days to Cullero so rations shouldn’t be a problem; we can distribute generously. Give the Gristol stuff to the prisoners below. We can offload any cargo once we arrive. I want to keep an eye on our new volunteers -- assign somebody to it. Thomas?” He raises his voice.

“Sir?” Thomas says.

For the first time Daud realizes that Thomas does his ubiquitous appearing act without the use of transversals. It’s impressive.

“I know you’ve sailed,” Daud says. “Can you navigate to Cullero?”

“Yes, Daud,” Thomas says. “Should _The Leviathan_ lead?”

“Doubting my sense of direction?” Daud bares his teeth in a grin. “I haven’t forgotten everything from my tender childhood years. I know Serkonos waters.”

“Of course,” Thomas says. He even manages not to sound sarcastic, which Daud can appreciate. Most of his Whalers are terrible liars without their masks. It’s strange because when he recruits them they’re usually at least competent at it -- perhaps hiding behind the mask makes their skills deteriorate.

“Good,” Daud says. “Follow the _Huntress_. I’ll give you two hours to get everything in order before we move.”

Thomas melts away.

**i.**

Things become complicated quickly. There’s no trouble from the pirate volunteers, nor from the former _Huntress_ crewmembers -- instead it is the Serkonan government that gives Daud grief.

“I’m starting to feel unwelcome.” Daud stands in the crow’s nest, spyglass to his eye watching the approaching ship. Their deck is alive with activity and the flash of weaponry, and their mast flies the Serkonan flag with another, unfamiliar one underneath it.

He swings down the rigging, gripping the ropes with bare toes until he reaches the deck and pulls his boots out from where they’re tucked into his belt.

“Signal Thomas,” he says, pitching his voice so that it carries. “We need some flags.”

 _The Leviathan_ pulls up promptly as the _Huntress_ reduces speed until they’re sailing side by side, a ship’s width between them. Thomas swings over on a rope.

The man has wholeheartedly embraced sea life. He’s too good-looking to pull off a true pirate captain, but his sandy hair has begun to bleach blonde from the sun and he wears loose trousers with a flowing shirt in the Serkonan style. It reveals the tattoos that crawl along his left arm and over his chest.

“Seems to be a privateer.” Thomas greets Daud with a nod and turns to the small gathering of other Whalers. “Ho there, Kent, Devon, Tynan.”

Kent bounds over to throw an arm around Thomas’ shoulders; the others merely nod back or return Thomas’ greeting with one of their own. Daud ignores the antics until they’ve all settled down.

“We have a ship gaining on us, for those who haven’t heard.” Nobody looks surprised at the news. “As Thomas said, they could be a privateer after _The Leviathan_. If they are that makes things more complicated -- I don’t want to waste time fighting, and I _don’t_ want any sunken or damaged ships. Nor do I want what we can do to come out.”

He fixes them all with a glare. They nod; some of the younger Whalers, still excited about what they can do with Daud’s watered-down abilities from the Outsider, have been chafing at the restriction of their powers.

“We’re going to run up flags of parley,” Daud says. “If we can negotiate, good. If not, it will get us close enough to board without deploying cannons.”

 _The Leviathan_ has a collection of flags in their hold, at least a few from all the islands and signifying all kinds of things, folded neatly and stacked in a shipping crate. Rulfio discovered them on that first inspection after the ship’s capture, noted it, and moved on. Now they’re coming in handy.

“Thomas,” Daud says. “I want all of your men to be on high alert. Yours is the former pirate vessel, so if we are dealing with privateers they’ll target you first. Take your pick of the Whalers if you think you’ll need them. Kent, Tynan.”

The two men stand up straighter.

“Get your squads, spread the word. Be ready but no aggression unless they attack first. Retaliation _only_. Devon, go with Thomas and get the flag for the _Huntress_.”

The Whalers nod and disperse. Daud arms himself back in the captain’s cabin, shrugging his distinctive red coat over his shoulders and buckling sword, pistol belt, and ammunition bandolier over the custom padding sewn into the coat’s lining. He’ll sweat like a pig, he thinks wryly, especially when they slow and the wind dies down, but it’s better than being dead.

When he emerges abovedecks the parley flag is flying on the mast and the pursuing ship is visible to the naked eye.

“Parley accepted!” Somebody yells from the crow’s nest. 

The pursuing ship is old, one of the earlier generations of steamships. A steel-iron frame filled out by wood with three masts and sails, it must save its fuel for chase and capture -- and it must have a talented captain. 

A contingent of eight from the pursuing ship -- named _Siren’s Strike_ , Daud sees as they drift closer -- boards the _Huntress_. Daud has five men, all Master Assassins, with him, while Thomas and another five arrive from _The Leviathan_. Enough to indicate strength without overcompensating and outnumbering their guests.

“Captain Choudhry,” says the woman in front. She is obviously the leader, decked out in a fine green surcoat over a blue shirt and tan breeches, pistol and sword at her hip. She’s even wearing jewelry: nothing impractical, just a nose and eyebrow stud on her face and a long wristclasp on her arm. Daud eyes the metal. In fact the wristclasp may even act as a sort of vambrace. Her crew is an almost-even mix of male and female -- highly unusual and, Daud thinks, probably very dangerous. Neither he nor his Whalers underestimate the opposite sex, but he bets that when the _Strike_ goes after other targets their gender distribution grant them a distinct advantage.

Daud is about to reply with his own (fake) name when one of Choudhry’s crew flinches back.

“Captain!” The man points at Daud. Oh, good. Something terrible is about to happen, he just knows it. “That’s the assassin Daud, he’s worth six thousand coin!”

Fuck, Daud thinks with resignation. And everything had been going so well.

Choudhry doesn’t immediately pull out her sword and gun, though. Instead she raises an eyebrow.

“Really?” she says to Daud.

“It’s more like five thousand,” Daud says.

Choudhry raises her other eyebrow. “Not bad,” she says.

“Look,” Daud says. “Can we--”

Choudhry whips out her gun and fires. As Daud hears the click of the trigger he stops time, walks forward to examine the trajectory of the bullet, and grasps Aedan’s arm to pull him out of the way.

“What?” Aedan says, looking around at the frozen world. He begins to look a bit green. “That’s unnatural.”

“Tell everybody to hold,” Daud says, and lets go before Aedan can reply. The man fades back into stillness.

Daud pushes three of Choudhry’s men into the other five, their startled exclamations cut off as he loses contact with their bodies. Then he unsheathes his sword and places the tip of it at the base of Choudhry’s neck.

Time resumes.

Gunshot seems louder than usual after the silence of a time manipulation. From all around him are cries of surprise and anger as Choudhry’s crew fall upon one another; Aedan gapes for a moment before he bellows “HOLD FIRE!” at the top of his lungs. Choudhry freezes as she feels cold steel kiss her skin. 

Daud placed himself just inside the range of of her peripheral vision so she has to turn her head to see him clearly, but when she starts to move he digs the point of his sword harder into her flesh. She rolls her eyes toward him instead.

“I’m going to kill that idiot,” she says with the barest movement of her lips. It takes Daud a moment to realize that she means the crewmember who told her who Daud was, and he chuckles.

“I have an unfair advantage,” he tells her. “Don’t feel too bad. Thomas!”

“Sir?”

“Secure Captain Choudhry’s ship, would you? Take as many men as you need but try not to brutally murder anyone, we’re going for goodwill.”

Choudhry glares at him as well as she can.

“Eventually,” Daud adds.

At this point there’s no sense in hiding, although most of the Whalers pull out their masks from somewhere or another before they transverse over to the _Siren’s Strike_. Short cries of surprise and dismay ring out over the water.

Kent and Jenkins step forward to watch over the eight _Siren’s_ crew collapsed on the deck, hands raised or laced behind their heads in surrender. A thrill of unease crawls down Daud’s spine -- this is too easy. Or does it merely seem that way because he’s gotten used to Dunwall, and the Outsider-touched being around every corner? The last mission he took was against the Brigmore Witches, and before that the Overseers. In contrast normal sailors are no problem at all.

Choudhry twitches and Daud refocuses. Premotions aren’t important right now; they won’t try to slip a dagger in his back.

“Look,” Daud says again, as he was going to before the parley truce was broken. “I’m not looking for trouble, and I don’t really want to kill you.” He thinks of Corvo’s mask, the graceful sweep of his sword, his desperate strength.

“And you’ll let my crew go?” Choudhry asks, still trying not to move her throat.

“My word,” Daud says. “Do you surrender?”

Now Choudhry swallows. Daud backs off, just a little bit, so that his blade is merely hovering over her skin instead of pressing into it. He watches her consider, weighing her options, eyes dark and alive in her face.

He thinks suddenly of Billie. A pang of -- not regret, but maybe wistfulness, curls in his breast. She would have made a good privateer, he thinks. An even better pirate.

“We surrender,” Choudhry says finally. She hands over her pistol butt first. “Let me go.”

Daud does. He even escorts her back onto her ship, one eye on her and one eye on her crew in case of trouble. A couple try it and are put down by Thomas or Aedan.

They sabotage the _Siren’s_ rudder before they leave: nothing permanent, but enough to stop any thoughts of pursuit for a few days. 

“Well that was fun,” Hobson drawls. He’s leaning against the ship’s railing, arms crossed. “I’m surprised you didn’t recruit them as well, build yourself a fleet.”

“I’m _retiring_ ,” Daud growls. “On land, in Serkonos. This is all temporary.”

“Sure,” Hobson says, unimpressed.

Daud glares, but Thomas signals that he wants to talk and he turns away. He blinks over to _The Leviathan_.

Four more days until Cullero.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Serkonan government is inconvenient, Daud is resentful, and the Whalers are taking much too well to the pirate life.

**ii.**

Shipyard security in Serkonos -- or at least in Cullero -- is lax compared to Dunwall’s, in spite of or perhaps because of their pirate problem. The _Huntress_ and _The Leviathan_ are both allowed to dock with no issues, and Daud bribes the harbormaster with an additional hundred coin to keep their arrival quiet before he gathers both crews together.

“Hobson, Tynan.” They step forward. “Choose a squad to keep watch, one to each ship. Subdue any intruders and hold them for interrogation. Kent, take two novices and escort the prisoners to a safe dropoff location. Those originally from the _Leviathan_ who signed on under duress or free to depart as well. Everybody else, you have shore leave. Gather back here two hours past sundown.”

The Whalers disperse with cheers and a couple of groans. Daud ignores the chatter as he steps toward the gangplank. He’s ready for some real food, fresh fruit and the fried seafood sprinkled with spices he remembers fondly from his childhood. It had always tasted better when stolen, hot, from street vendors.

“Take a couple of men, sir.” Thomas falls into step beside him easily. The skin across his nose is sunburned, red and peeling, and his shirt is practically open to the waist. Ink crawls across along his chest, reaching out from his left shoulder like a thicket of vines. He looks like any other sailor making his way among the Isles.

Daud is the one finally on his home soil, but he’d feel more comfortable in the dank maze of Dunwall’s diseased streets. The open roads and warm air of Cullero make the back of his neck prickle -- with sweat, with unease.

“No,” he growls. Thomas is unfazed.

“Even just as messengers,” Thomas says. “Or I could assign a couple to follow you.”

“Just try it.” Daud bares his teeth. Outsider’s eyes, when did Thomas start questioning his orders?

“ _I_ could follow you,” Thomas says.

Probably when he decided to grow a spine, Daud thinks uncharitably. He knows that Thomas has a point. They are outside of their own territory in a foreign land, and if Daud is incapacitated his men will be that much easier to kill. But Daud doesn’t want this to be a mission, doesn’t want it to be like the last eighteen years of his life. Daud wants to be _retired_ , whatever that means.

“I’ll call one of you if I need to,” Daud concedes without grace. “All right?”

“Fine,” Thomas says after a moment. “Enjoy your evening, sir.”

Before Daud can come back with a scathing retort, he veers off into an alley and transverses to a rooftop. Daud lets him go.

He spends several hours just walking the streets, buying and eating whatever catches his fancy, watching the flow of people in their finery or rags, merchants and street children mingling in the marketplace in a blur of humanity. He reads the graffiti that decorates the hidden sides of buildings, the crinkled and water-run posters pasted by doorways or signposts. There’s an old one that calls for his capture, the ink washed by rain into an indecipherable blur but a portrait of a whaler’s mask still prominent.

He snorts under his breath. So much for a safe retirement.

When only a few minutes later the Serkonan Guard calls for him to halt, he hurls mental curses into the Void. This is somehow the Outsider’s doing, he knows it.

“Daud, leader of the coalition of assassins known as the Whalers,” an officer says. “You are under arrest.”

Daud raises his hands in surrender, eyeing the rooftops, as the Guard advances -- and right before they are within arms reach, he clenches his fist.

A chimney on the roof he transverses to hides him from sight but leaves him close enough to hear curses and cries of surprise. The man who spoke to him yells at the other Guards to calm themselves, to fall in order; he must be the captain.

“He’s a witch,” one of them says. “We’ll never catch him.”

“We have his men,” the captain says. “Either he’ll come for them, or it’ll be that much easier for us to run him down.”

“Maybe we should get the Overseers,” another volunteers.

Daud holds his breath. That will make things more difficult. Has the relationship between the Abbey and the rest of Serkonos changed so much?

“Hah!” the captain says to a chorus of derisive comments. “Not likely.”

Daud breathes out. Good. Gristol, and Dunwall in particular, is where the Abbey has the most influence. It’s reassuring to know that Serkonos continues to follow Morley’s example in resisting the Abbey’s attempt at gaining a foothold.

Then he frowns to himself. The Whalers, captured? They should have escaped as easily as he has. He activates his dark vision and watches the shining yellow figures of the Guard move down the street.

Retirement, he thinks with no small amount of resentment, is supposed to be _relaxing_.

 

Darkness creeps over the sky before Daud leaves the rooftops. The Guard leads him to a compound in the southern district, the buildings flirting with the zone of the slaughterhouse quarter but not quite a part of it, a small buffer of industrial space and various shops scattered around in a block. A scan of the area with his dark vision reveals twelve men in a room transversing back and forth in what looks to be a complicated game of tag.

When he steps up to the barred window to look inside, his suspicions are confirmed. A coin nearly hits him in the face -- would have, if a gloved fist didn’t snatch it out of the air right before it flew through the bars.

“What,” Daud hisses, “do you think you’re doing?”

Aedan yelps. The other whalers freeze.

“Well?” Daud says, impatient with their silence.

“Er,” Aedan says. “Waiting… for a good time to escape?”

Daud breathes in deeply. “How did they capture you in the first place?”

“Oh, that.” Aedan brightens. “You told us to stay inconspicuous, so we let ourselves be arrested. We were going to sneak out once it was dark.”

“You idiots think that being arrested is inconspicuous? Don’t answer,” Daud adds. “All right, fine. I’ll deal with your stupidity later. It’s full dark now -- let’s go.”

The Whalers shuffle, sheepish, before transversing out of their cell one by one.

“We need to pick up our weapons, sir,” Aedan mutters.

Daud sighs through his nose but activates his dark vision -- there. He points.

It takes them less than five minutes to escape the Guard compound, another thirty to make their way across the rooftops back to the ships.

“Sir,” Thomas greets him as they arrive. “I was just about to send out a rescue squad.”

He remains unfazed by Daud’s glare.

“You’re the last to arrive,” he continues. “The sentries reported some suspicious activity around the harbormaster’s office, but nothing has happened yet. Do you want us to look into it?”

“Do it,” Daud says. He waves at Aedan and the Whalers liberated from the Guardhouse. “And take these with you. I expect they’ll _follow orders_.”

“We did--” Aedan shrinks under Daud’s stare. “Of course, sir.”

Daud grunts.

Supper is doled out by the galley crew, nothing more than thin soup and bread; those on sentry duty throughout the day get additional roasted meat and fruit to make up for their lack of freedom. Daud sips at the broth and drums his fingers along the bottom of his wooden bowl as he looks out over the city.

Cullero is a town low to the ground for all that it rises with the steps of the land. the city’s tiers built into the cliffs by the sea. Whale oil lanterns burn blue in the night but there are no walls of light, no tallboys. No challenges, Daud thinks, and then dismisses the thought with a twitch of his shoulder. When Thomas’ team arrives back on deck with quiet _thwip_ sounds, he has moved on to staring at the lighthouse.

“Definitely trouble,” Thomas reports. Daud drains his bowl and rises to his feet. “An entire contingent of the guard has gathered in the building, heavily armed. Should we prepare for a fight?”

“No,” Daud says after a moment. He spares a moment to wonder if Captain Choudhry had somehow tipped off Serkonan authorities to Daud’s presence and the Whaler’s abilities, but surely the Guard would have swallowed their pride and enlisted Overseers if she did. And if it does come to a battle, their cards would be all out in the open. “We don’t want to tip our hand too early. Tell the men to cast off. We’ll go to another port and resupply, then see if we can become less of a high priority bounty.”

“Sir,” Thomas nods, and transverses away.

Daud strides off to organize his own crew, which means he delegates most of the actual work to Tynan. Some enterprising Whaler has restocked their water and citrus fruit but real food is still a priority. If he has to eat one more can of pickled eel, he might go mad.

_Thwip._

_”The Leviathan_ is ready to cast off, sir.”

“Tynan?” Daud waves him over.

“Ready,” Tynan says.

“We’ll head out first,” Daud says. “I doubt they have a blockade, so your cannons are better served pointed at the shore. When we’re out of dock, follow.”

“I’ll let Thomas know.” _Thwip._

He doesn’t relax until they get to the open sea and Cullero is merely a dim light along the horizon. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” he says, unthinking. Outsider’s _eyes_. Now something is bound to go wrong.

“Tynan!”

Tynan appears. “Yes, Daud?”

“We’re setting course for Karnaca. Take the eastern route.”

“It’ll be done.”

Daud nods acknowledgement and goes back to his cabin. He doesn’t dream.

**iii.**

Nothing unusual happens at their next port stop: they resupply without incident, taking on enough water and food rations to support their new numbers. Strangely enough, none of the men from the _Leviathan_ took the opportunity to disappear in Cullero. Daud plans to induct those who wish it into the Whalers when they arrive in deeper waters.

Which is when everything goes wrong, of course. He should know better than to plan around the assumption that events will stay predictable.

Billie Lurk scowls at him. “What are you doing out here, old man?”

 _Damn_ you, Daud thinks viciously at the Outsider.

“Retiring,” he growls at Billie. “What are _you_ doing out here?”

“This is _my ship_ ,” Billie hisses back. “What do you mean, retiring?”

“Are you a pirate?” Daud says.

“What does it look like?” Billie gestures at the skull-and-crossbones flying high on her center mast.

Her ship is small but sleek, metal-tipped along the hull’s aft and bow for protection and ramming, respectively. He sees little evidence of an engine but there must be some concealed below; Billie wouldn’t accept anything less than the advantage steam power gives her. Her sails, like Billie’s coat, are a deep blood red.

“You look like pirates,” Daud admits.

“We are,” Billie says. “Retiring? Why in the void would you decide to do that?”

“I wouldn’t think you’d be surprised,” Daud says. “Given that you thought I was going soft.”

“You were.” Billie crosses her arms. “But we worked that out. I left. Did Thomas let you do this? Never mind, of course he did. He never had any spine when it came to standing up to you.”

Nobody in the Whalers had, except her. And Hobson. He tries not to let the thought show in his face.

“ _Huntress_ , ahoy!” comes a call to Daud’s left. Billie whirls, hand going to the hilt of her sword; Daud turns more slowly. Thomas swings over and lands neatly on the deck in a crouch.

“Hello, Billie,” he says. “Daud.” There’s the lilt of a question in his voice, in the unspoken silence after his greeting.

“Right,” Daud says, turning back to Billie. “I don’t want to fight. I just want to make port at Cullero when all this has died down and _retire_.”

“All what?” Billie says.

“Our bounty,” Thomas says. “We… may have caught the attention of a privateer. And stolen a pirate ship.”

“Stolen a--is that _The Leviathan?_ You killed _The Leviathan_ ’s crew?”

“Some of the crew,” Daud corrects. “We have a few with us now, and we dropped the rest off at Cullero.”

“You’re the new pirate captain,” Billie says, voice flat. “Of course.”

“I’m not a pirate captain!” Daud says. “I’m--”

“Retired,” both Thomas and Billie chorus. Daud gets no fucking respect.

“What do you mean, pirate captain?” Thomas continues. “Where did you hear that?”

“The Serkonan Guard has a bounty on a new pirate captain who commandeered _The Leviathan_ and _Huntress_.” Billie shakes her head. “We keep track of that sort of thing.”

“Great.” Daud runs a hand over his face, the rough material of his gloves dragging against his skin. “This is just what I needed.”

Billie grins, suddenly cheered by his misfortune. “Look on the bright side, old man. At least you aren’t retired yet.”

Daud makes a rude gesture and Thomas laughs. For a moment it’s as if the past year never happened, as if the Whalers are still going strong out here in the clear blue Southern seas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. I'm signed up for like 3 exchanges right now, so updates may be slow to come in the next couple of weeks. I apologize D:


End file.
